Letting Go is the Hardest Part
by Empire of Dust
Summary: It's hard to move on and let people in, especially when you lose the only person you trusted.
1. Tired

Reaching out and touching thin air startled her. Sitting up and staring at the back of the unoccupied couch made reality hit home. But her eyes still searched for Keiji in the darkness of her room.

She shoved the dark thought to the back of her head, and replaced it with the notion that Keiji was simply taking a shower like he did every morning.

Kasumi got up half-asleep, and walked to the lounge to make tea. Then it was suddenly hard to breathe, and Kasumi found herself wiping stubbornly at her eyes, realizing she had just wasted a cup of tea because she didn't take milk or sugar with hers.

Keiji was gone.

The thought left her with a hollow feeling deep within her chest.

Kasumi couldn't fall back to sleep so she gave up trying. On the edge of her bed she sat wrapped in her sheets, eying the greybox, shivering in the chilly air. A tiny voice in the back of her mind scolded her, told her that it was time she laid it and Keiji to rest. But she wasn't ready. Not yet.

She almost tripped over the sheets as she reached for the strange contraption. Kasumi had to see him, had to hear his voice. In an instant she stood in the dark hall of memories, standing before the ghost of Keiji and feeling so horribly alone.

Kasumi reached out and caressed his cheek, murmuring "I love you."

But he just stood there, like a statue at most, repeating the warning she had heard a thousand times. Every time she visited, she expected things to be different, as if he would say something else instead of begging her to delete the memories, to delete him.

It was all she had left of him, and words could not describe how thankful she was to Shepard for letting her keep it. Just seeing him and hearing his voice made everything seem okay, like everything was going to be all right. Even if he could not feel her touch or say anything in return to her, it was still a comfort to see him, to simply be reminded of what he looked and sounded like.

She exited the greybox before it became too difficult to do so.


	2. The Only Fault

Talking to Samara was difficult. Not in the sense that the justicar's company was hard to bear, but rather, Kasumi found herself drawing up short for things to say or start whatever semblance of a conversation she could.

What could one talk about with someone whose life was dictated by an ancient moral code? The justicar usually kept to herself in the starboard observatory deck, coming out only when needed or necessary. Why Samara insisted on sitting with her, Kasumi couldn't say. She was a thief, someone of questionable morals—not exactly the perfect conversational partner for someone so hell bent on justice. Or perhaps that was the entire reason why Samara sat with her, to set her on the right path?

They sat opposite each other, a cup of tea in their hands. Kasumi blew on hers, puffs of steam intertwining. The mess hall was empty, eerily quiet. Samara and Kasumi happened to cross paths in the mess hall, both desiring a cup of tea.

"You seem to have something on your mind." Samara's large blue eyes met hers. Daintily, she sipped her tea, pinky extended. The sight made a small smile tug at Kasumi's mouth. Human culture must have been influencing Samara more than she thought.

"It's nothing, really." Kasumi trailed off, staring down at her tea. Then after a beat, "Do you think it is selfish of me to keep the greybox?" Thanks to Shepard's big mouth, it seemed as if everyone knew about it. Of course, Kasumi never failed to tell Shepard how much this annoyed her. She was a person of secrets and preferred it to stay like that. There was a reason she kept some things to hers self; it was safer that way.

"We asari outlive our loved ones—even our own children should unnatural causes claim them—by centuries. We learn to appreciate the time we have with them." Samara was cool and collected as ever. Kasumi wished to have her strength, her resolve, if only to make things easier.

"So I should get rid of it? I know it's what Keiji wanted, but…" She mumbled into her tea, unable to finish the thought. Kasumi's knees are brought to her chest, and she sat awkwardly on the chair.

"You cannot bring yourself to do it. The greybox represents what's left of Keiji, and getting rid of it would be getting rid of him." Samara said. She set her cup down with a faint _clack_.

"Yeah, you could say that." The tea was hot and bitter and scorched down her throat.

"Perhaps it is time for you to move on?" She suggested gently.

Kasumi couldn't tell if it was the lighting or not, but Samara's expression was one of sympathy. She took another gulp so she drained her cup of tea. The taste was foul and strong and still lingered in her mouth, made her grimace. The tea, Kasumi assumed, must have been an asari brew, for Samara drank hers slowly and appeared to relish the taste.

"I don't think I'm ready. Not yet, anyway." Kasumi shook her head. The notion made her blood freeze, and she shuddered, despite the warm temperature of the mess hall. A weak smile played on Samara's lips, and her eyes wandered past Kasumi's head into a middle space only she could see.

"That is the hardest part. You never will be." She said, voice oddly small and quiet. "Not a day goes by where I am not haunted by Morinth." The justicar's head titled down, both of her thin hands wrapped around the tea cup. "She may have been an Ardat-Yakshi, but she was my daughter all the same. Her death, though necessary, brings me great sadness."

"Then I suppose the first step to get over him will be erasing the greybox." It wasn't a question.

"It is entirely up to you, Ms. Goto." She placed a comforting hand on Kasumi's, the same smile playing on her mouth.

_That's what Keiji said_. Kasumi thought.

She said nothing in return, and gnawed on her bottom lip.

"I know you will make the right choice." Samara added, removing her hand. With grace, she got to her feet, tea cup held gingerly in one hand. "Good night."

"You too."

Giving a faint, Samara left for the kitchenette, depositing her dish. With heavy feet, Kasumi headed for the elevator and for her room. When she entered, she left the lights off. The only illumination came from a giant, bloated star far off in space, everything bathed in a sickly shade of red. Even in the dim light she could still find it, recognize it by touch alone. The cold metal of the greybox bit into her hands as she clutched it tightly, afraid to let go.

Samara was right. Deleting his memories may not be something she wanted to do, but it was the right thing. Besides, she had to do this, if not for Keiji's sake, then for hers. Kasumi knew she couldn't go on like this. It wasn't… healthy.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she deleted his memories.

She never cried so hard in her life.


	3. Distractions

More than half of the crew of the _Normandy_ gathered in the mess hall for lunch (At Kasumi's suggestion, Gardener had decided to try his hand at ramen). Rowdy and loud, the cacophony of many plastic utensils, bowls and plates assaulted Kasumi's ears. She scanned the tops of their heads and spotted Jacob sitting on the left of the hall by himself, trying in vain to use a pair of chopsticks. Kasumi made her way over to his table, entertained by his failure.

"Gardener's ramen isn't too bad, but it isn't anything compared to my grandmother's." Kasumi slipped into the seat in front of him, placing her bowl down onto the table. "It's a pity I never stole her recipe." She never really talked to Jacob before, save for that one time she commented on one of his well-placed headshots that took out a flamethrower-wielding vorcha. She remembers quiet clearly the small grin that lit up his face.

"She never told you?" His eyes flitted to her, then back down to the steaming bowl in front of him. Jacob's fingers fumbled with the twin sticks of wood. They slipped out of his grasp and fought with him as he attempted to grab noodles.

"Fat chance." She snorted, taking her chopsticks out of their paper packaging. "I could have begged and pleaded with her and she still wouldn't have told me." She thrust her lower lip in a pout. "My grandmother never shared her recipes with anyone. Not even Grandfather." With amusement, she watched Jacob struggle.

He clumsily brought the chopsticks to his mouth, only to have the noodles slip out from between them and back into the bowl. A bit of broth splashed onto the front of his Cerberus outfit, and he sighed in defeat, hands wiping at the liquid that stained his clothing. A chuckle escaped Kasumi, and Jacob's brown eyes darted towards her.

"I don't know how to use these damned things." he admitted, face flushing in embarrassment.

"I can show you how."

"Be my guest, Kasumi."

"The pleasure is mine." She smiled. "Now watch closely, my understudy."

Kasumi placed one chopstick between her thumb and middle finger, resting it at the base of her thumb. She brought the other to rest between her thumb and forefinger, its side resting against the tip of her thumb, and the latter of which she wiggled. "You move the top chopstick and keep the bottom one still. You gotta keep them parallel." She slurped some of her ramen. "It's not hard once you get the hang of it, really."

Jacob's brow was furrowed in concentration. "Like this?" He tried to follow her instructions, and failed horribly at doing so, resting one chopstick between his ring finger and thumb, the other slipping inside the wedge of his thumb and forefinger.

"Close, but no cigar, Mr. Taylor." She set her bowl of ramen aside and clasped his calloused hand, repositioning his fingers. "Now try."

He managed to secure one noodle. "I'm starting to think chopsticks aren't meant for me."

"Perhaps I should get you an elastic."

Jacob's mouth twisted in a half-frown. "Why would I need an elastic?"

"Elastics are like training wheels for chopsticks." Kasumi remarked, face splitting into a grin.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm better off sticking to forks." he said. "Give me a pistol and I can shoot a mark dead on from fifty feet, but give me a pair of twigs to eat with and I'll starve."

Kasumi laughed.

"You know what they say, don't you?" She said. "Practice makes perfect."

Jacob made an amused sound in the back of his throat. "I suppose that's how you became such a good thief?" With the back of his hand, he shoved the bowl of ramen aside, giving up on the fruitless endeavour of trying to eat it.

"Besides being a master thief, I'm a master of secrets." Kasumi placed her chin in her hand, elbow on the hard metal of the grey table, watching him.

Jacob leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "One of these days you'll have to show me what's under that hood of yours." He pointed his chin to the hood in question, eyeing it. She burned under his scrutiny like an ant under a magnifying glass.

"Maybe," Her fingers tugged the hood farther over her eyes, throwing more than half her face in obscure shadow. "Maybe not."

Getting close to people was reckless, stupid. Keiji knew everything about her, and looked what happened to him. He died, and Kasumi paid the price for it. Every time that man crossed her mind, her heart would seize and the bitter taste of something foul and scored would fill her mouth.

She didn't think she'd ever feel the same way about anyone else, and she hadn't truly trusted anyone since Keiji. Yet there was something about Jacob that drew her in, made him all the more trustworthy.


	4. It's Not That Easy

Though Keiji often crossed her thoughts and haunted her dreams, but Kasumi couldn't help but feel as if a weight had been lifted off of her soul. Being able to sleep at night without rushing to the greybox before she did so was… well, it was marvelous. The greybox didn't rule her life anymore, didn't dictate how she would feel on a daily basis. It had been a week since she purged it.

Maybe, just maybe, she could move on; be happy again.

She was cautiously optimistic about it—she and Jacob often chatted each other up now, and having someone to talk to was nice. Granted, it was usually during shore leave which happened with such rarity nowadays, so close to the Omega Four Relay were they, but still.

Quietly, she made her way to the starboard observation deck, where she knew Samara was practicing her meditations. When she entered the spartan room, she felt like an struck her as odd, considering her occupation of the galaxy's best thief. Kasumi was used to sneaking and slipping into places unnoticed, but Samara had such an air of calm surrounding her, she felt rude disturbing it. In the center of it, Samara sat with the faint glow of dark mnemonic energy emanating from between her hands.

Not even the _whoosh_ of the door interrupted the justicar, who seemed so deep and lost in her thoughts. Kasumi paused, toyed with the idea of cloaking herself, if only to leave unnoticed and come back at a later date. She didn't know how Samara would react from having her meditation broken.

"You may walk softly, but your presence is not entirely unnoticeable." Samara's words both insulted and startled her. The asari was more observant than Kasumi gave her credit for—something she'd have to keep in mind for future reference. "What brings you here?" Save for Shepard, not many others visited Samara, so her suspicion wasn't entirely unfounded.

"I have to thank you." Kasumi hesitated, unsure if she should walk into the room any further. She never sought Samara out before, even if she happened to be down the hallway from her own room.

"For?" She could have sworn she heard hints of annoyance in Samara's composed tones. The asari didn't turn, her meditative position maintained.

"Helping me."

"You speak of Keiji, correct?" Samara's shoulders sagged, and suddenly she looked so very tired. In a small puff of dark energy, the mnemonic ball dissipated.

"Yea."

With a wave of her hand, she gestured for Kasumi to sit down. She sat on the left of Samara with her knees held close to her chest.

"You are most welcome." She said. The corner of her mouth twitched a small, almost invisible movement.

Kasumi watched the mass of whirling whites, the faint red and orange and blue blurs, of stars and far off galaxies outside the window. Samara seemed intent on watching the various lights dance on the insides of her eyelids, her eyes closed still, as if she were in half-meditation. It wouldn't have surprised Kasumi if such a thing were true. For one, it would explain the perpetual calm that seemed to radiate from the asari. Now if only her calm were infectious. Grunt wouldn't be so keen to start petty fights, and perhaps Shepard wouldn't be so brash. Jack would definitely benefit from some lessons if Samara happened to be so inclined. Kasumi knew she wouldn't mind such a class.

A pregnant pause transformed into a lengthy silence. Silence never bothered Kasumi, and it seemed that the two of them had that much in common, even if she got the impression that Samara would rather her leave. The justicar was too polite to outwardly say such a thing, however. So Kasumi stayed, her mind racing with a thousand and one different thoughts, until one of them came unbidden from her mouth.

"How come it's easier now than when I had the memories?" Her voice seemed to echo against the plain walls of the starboard observatory deck.

Kasumi observed Samara's unmoving form. Finally, she relented and opened her eyes. They unsettled Kasumi a little for they seemed to probe into her, dive deep through her inner thoughts and most private of secrets. Absentmindedly, she tugged her hood down a little farther. After a moment, Samara looked away and off into the depths of space.

"Having the greybox, and the memories within, only reminded you of your grief. It did you no good." She said to Kasumi, head turning into her direction a bit. Her hands were wound together, a small steeple on her lap.

When Kasumi thought about it, it made sense. How could she possibly get over Keiji if she was always throwing herself into the past and reliving memories the way she was? There was a fine line between grieving and becoming unhealthily fixated on the past.

Samara pointed out, with tact, that she had begun to cross that line.

Even if Samara never said it out loud, Kasumi could tell she did not approve of Shepard's original decision to let her keep the greybox. The thought that Samara didn't know how the contents could implicate the Alliance burst into Kasumi's mind. And she wondered if Samara's decision would have been different if she had known, given her dedication to justice and doing what was right. Not that Kasumi would ever tell Samara, especially now, of all times.

When a prolonged amount of time had passed when Kasumi said nothing in return, Samara continued. "For simplicity's sake, imagine a scab constantly being ripped off. The wound would take longer to heal and leave a worse scar than it would have if left alone."

"That's… gross." Kasumi said, scrunching up her nose in disgust. Then added quickly: "No offense."

"None taken, but it does get the message across." Amusement danced in her eyes; a rare occurrence. The notion that perhaps Samara said it for shock factor occurred to Kasumi, but the thought was quickly disregarded.

"Yeah, I'll give you that much." Kasumi admitted.

Smoothly, Samara rose to her feet. "Would you care to join me for tea?" The faint traces of a smile tugged at her mouth. "I have finished my meditations for the day."

"Hm. Your offer is hard to refuse." Kasumi clambered to her feet. "I could always go for tea. But let me make it this time." The aftertaste of whatever Samara made last time had the effect of ruminating in her mouth, even days after she had drank it.

Judging from the knowing look in Samara's unearthly blue eyes, Kasumi felt as if she knew she didn't like the tea she made last time, but still, the justicar is too polite to say anything about it. And Kasumi was thankful.


End file.
